Magical Hogwarts

April 2005

It was already April! Only three months until the national championships would take place. Letizia was secretly wishing for Beauxbatons to get closed for the rest of the term which would allow her to go home and train. Then again, training conditions in Italy were mediocre at best. Her coach had never really been a successful athlete herself and neither had any of her athletes. Truth be told, Italy had no tradition in artistic flying and Lettie felt at a disadvantage compared to not only Durmstrang students, Russians in particular, but also to French students. The French artistic flying federation was working on creating better conditions for the athletes. Italy, so far, did nothing.

Letizia's only hope was to be allowed to attend a training camp in Russia (preferably) or France during the summer and impress at the Italian national championships and be sent to the European championships in consequence. Maybe if there were Italian athletes in reach of international medals the federation would offer some more support. It was a dream, though, and seemed unlikely to happen.

Stuck at Manoir Vertneuf, the season preparation wasn't going too well either. Professeur Said had helped the artistic flyers with the security measures so falls were slowed down before the student would hit the ground hard, but, just like the Quidditch pitch, this was just an improvised training space and while Said gave them tips to improve their physical condition overall, he was no expert when it came to setting up new routines.

With the help of the Ombrelune mousquetaire Lettie had learned how to turn a part of the paddock fence in the south of the grounds into something that resembled a balance beam. It was easier to train some moves there than on a flying broom, after all. However, having been in Rybinsk in the past summer, Lettie knew how much better training could be.

She ended a sequence with another split jump, shakily landing on the top bar of the fence again and then hopped down on the field. "I need to perfect this sequence so I can use it at nationals," she whined. "I nail the split jump on its own but I just don't manage to do it perfectly when it is a part of a sequence. What am I doing wrong?"

Letizia sat down in the grass, leaning against the fence post, whilst plucking daisies absently. The sun was shining and, for the north of France, it was indeed a fine spring day. "I want to make it to the European championships and I want to do well there so badly…" She sighed. These wishes were what they probably all had in common and Lettie was well aware that young artistic flyers all over Europe were dreaming of making it to the international championships and placing well there.

She sighed again and looked at her friend. "How do you like it that the technical exercise is performed to music now, too?" The change of rules had been announced just a few weeks ago when most athletes had already been working on their new routines. She vaguely remembered having talking about the news with Renata when they had been published but then neither of them had given the matter a lot of thought yet. By now, Letizia had spent hours trying to figure out how to prepare her programs, she had written to her coach, and gone though a list of music options. "I think it’s great for the seniors who can train to music. In my opinion it sucks for us students."

@Renata Marchesi-Dujardin

Renata’s cryptic smile broadened as she leaned toward her friend and rival, the thrill of competition singing a sweet, eerie melody in her veins. She was well aware of their shared bond, their shared ambition, but it only added to the intoxicating tension. After all, friendly competition was the most deliciously sinister kind, wasn’t it?

“Oh, dearest Lettie,” she began, her voice smooth as she wove her web of words, “Perfection indeed is a vicious tormentor. It’s like the most cunning of specters, always one step beyond our grasp. This demon of a split jump that plagues you is but a test, a steppingstone on your path to greatness.” In her own way, Renata attempted to be reassuring and supportive. But sometimes, her own need to win overshadowed Renata’s desire to be a good friend.

A wicked glint appeared in her eyes, “Or perhaps, a stumbling block?” The underlying challenge hung in the air, laced with familiar rivalry. For the most part, the girls competed in separate arenas, but were their dreams fulfilled, one day, they might find themselves pitted against each other.

As they shifted their conversation to the prospect of championships, Renata’s expression turned eerily contemplative. “Standing victorious, don’t you think it is akin to a dance with death itself? With every win, we cheat the reaper, steal a moment of triumph from his skeletal hands.” Renata considered the softening charms on their makeshift balance beam; they wouldn’t have those at competition. “Yet, mortality remains our faithful companion, waiting patiently for the final curtain call.”

When Letizia broached the subject of music in technical exercises, Renata seemed to relish the added layer of difficulty. “Ah, the music. Isn’t it a beautiful, tormenting spirit, whispering in our ears while we dance in the sky?” Renata was excited to perform to music. She was a dancer, an entertainer at her core. While her technical skills left something to be desired, she was nothing if not a beautiful performer. “I love it. The music, its melodies that can either set us free or become the chains that bind us to mediocrity.”

She allowed a pause to permeate their conversation, her gaze finally resiting on Letizia, alive with chaotic thrill. “But isn’t it life, Lettie? A wild, unending symphony of trials and tribulations, chaos and order.” Renata stopped pulling daisies from their stems and began to twirl in the grass near the fence. “And what else can we do, but dance to its tune, twirl in its gusts, and leap to its uncertainties?” Her smirk was a silent challenge, her words an eerie lullaby of rivalry. “We shall dance, indeed…”

For as long as they both stood no chance of making the national team and being sent to international competitions it had been easy for Letizia and Renata to be friends. They could challenge each other without having to fear that they’d compete against each other anytime soon. By now both had improved and had a fair chance of making the top three at the upcoming junior nationals of their respective countries.

Lettie listened to Renata’s comment about the split jump but was none the wiser how she could manage it when the other girl finished speaking. It was true, though, it was a challenge she had to take and one day the element would come easily.

The girl laughed lightly as Renata said that a victory was like a dance with death itself. The Italian wouldn’t go this far. A victory was a victory, nothing more, nothing less. There was no immediate connection to mortality in her opinion. In fact, Letizia rarely thought about death the way her friend did. It was far away for her and nothing that busied her when she was preparing for a competition.

“Oh, I love performing to music. It makes it easier to get the timing right, but I think a program performed to music takes more time to prepare and as we’re here and not working closely with our coaches, time might be running out for us.” Letizia was seriously worried. She felt she needed far more time to prepare than she got. Sometimes she felt that Renata wasn’t following the choreography too closely. Maybe that was the way to go, after all. Maybe the road to success wasn’t a nicely paved one but more like a path they had to find in the wilderness.

Renata’s voice was a ghostly whisper, carrying with it the chill of the grave as she spoke to Lettie. “But Lettie, time is always slipping through our fingers, like sand in an hourglass ever hastening to its end,” she intoned. “For all of us.” The omnipresent shadow of the reaper seemed to linger in the archways Renata pirouetted beneath, a silent partner in her dance of life. Yet, this macabre presence had only ever spurred her onward. She moved with the defiance of one who dances on the edge of a knife, always forward, as to retreat was to acknowledge the end.

Renata was no master of the technical disciplines that Artistic Flying demanded, her talents lying instead in the reckless abandon of her courage. Her will was a conjured force, a specter summoned from the depths of her soul, unyielding and potent.

She shared a kinship with Lettie’s vexation, for the struggle was a familiar companion. They honed their craft upon beams wrought from hastened enchantments, amidst the straw and shadows of the stables, far from the grandeur of their rivals’ arenas. Renata’s mind was haunted by tales of foreign athletes, young as they were, and how they prepared. “They train under conditions superior, as the witching hour is to daybreak.”

“How do we overtake them?” she pondered aloud, her eyes drifting through the dim light of their makeshift quarters, searching the cobwebbed corners for an elusive answer. “How do we ensnare time, Lettie, trick it into granting us the houses we so desperately crave?” Renata’s query hung in the dusky air, a spectral suggestion that danced with the same eerie grace as her shadow upon the cold walls. “Or at least, let us conjure an equilibrium upon this crooked stage of competition. How might we weave the strands of melody into our practice?”

With a somewhat confused expression Letizia looked at her friend who was similar to her in many ways but quite the opposite in others. She generally enjoyed Renata’s philosophical approach to things, but sometimes found the other girl’s views a little too morbid. Besides, her main priority was to get ready for the championships. Wise comments were fine, but they would not help her succeed with that damned split jump sequence.

Lettie sighed loudly as her friend mentioned the superior training conditions others had. France was catching up a little with the new training centre that, at least during the summer, offered the students of Beauxbatons good training opportunities. However, the Russians had invented the sport, had brought it to its current heights and the Western countries seemed to be still trying to catch up. France was already doing a good job, there were some athletes that could make the top five internationally. For Italy there was only Fabio Conti who was competing at such a level and Lettie wished she could work with his team, too.

“I wish I could go to Rybinsk for training again,” she said dreamily. One lucky week she had had at the Russian training centre. This year, however, she was expecting to go to the new French centre which was good enough, but not quite the same as being among the best of the best.

“Yeah, we’d need more time…” Lettie nodded. “A timeturner would be so incredibly helpful,” she mused, knowing quite well that this wasn’t a real option. “And we’d need a good coach. Someone who really knows how to set up routines to highlight our strengths and hide our weaknesses.”

So far, however, Letizia knew that her strengths were not good enough to set her apart from others. The things she could do well, some others could do better. She wanted to improve, wanted to win medals at some point. Nevertheless there were moments when she felt that this was a dream she’d chase for all eternity and that it would never become true.